


Feelings just said it all

by gloss



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Finntrospection, M/M, Masturbation, Other, Sexual Fantasy, post-TFA
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2017-05-16
Packaged: 2018-11-01 14:19:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10923582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloss/pseuds/gloss
Summary: Finn's learning how to be in his body. How to be, and enjoy, and *exult*.





	Feelings just said it all

**Author's Note:**

  * For [orchis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orchis/gifts).



> @Orchis's prompt, I live to please.
> 
> Title from A$AP Rocky, [L$D](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yEG2VTHS9yg).

>   
>  _My tongue at a loss for words_   
>  _Cause my feelings just said it all_   
> 

Finn woke to a world run riot with color and song, clamor and scent, texture and tang, like nothing he'd ever known or been able to imagine. There was no way he could have expected this, let alone prepared for it.

His world was once chrome and black and white, sharp edges and clipped monotones. The liveliest, most unpredictable elements in that life were the ships' noise and the constant rattle-creak of trash chutes and sanitation drains.

Here, _everything_ is already more alive than any dream. Vines spread and twist along the walls; Ewoks debate with Keshians in excited clicking coos; the commissary food smells steamy and delicious, even when it's merely a protein and cabbage mash, as it is far more often than not.

 

Kalonia says his central nervous system might remain elevated for a while yet.

"Hard to tell," she says, scanning her datapad and tapping the fingers of her free hand against his knee. "If these levels are simply an effect of your injury, then they'll dissipate soon enough. If they're a response to your new surroundings..." She looks up and smiles at him. "Then who knows, really?"

"I hope they stay up," Finn replies. Each sense impression arrives loudly, in full bloom, smelling wonderful. Though Finn knows such a prospect is untenable, he wishes that his system would remain like this, capable of appreciating the world with such intensity, of _relishing_ it.

She seems taken aback by how much he is enjoying this. "You're a constant surprise," she says and pats his shoulder. 

In his old life, that kind of comment would have been cause to start worrying; you shouldn't ever stand out, let alone _surprise_ anyone. Here, however, it's a kind, even affectionate, thing to say.

He does physio every morning for several hours; the nanite stitches need to strengthen their bonds with his nerves, since the bacta salve can only do so much. He has weaned himself off all bacta salves and painkillers except for the worst pain.

He isn't just healing, he realized during his second session. Though that seems uppermost, he is also learning how to use his body in new ways. To-one, the 2-1 med-droid, directed him to do fifteen reps of arm weights, then rest. Finn did his reps, then stood at (trooper) ease. His shoulders were pushed back, his fists at his side, his chin pointed down.

"Rest," To-one repeated. " _Rest_."

Finn looked back at its ocular displays. There wasn't any way that those triplet lights could be glittering accusatorily, yet it certainly _felt_ like they were. "What's next?"

To-one stilled and played a gusty sound that was supposed to be a sigh.

So Finn is learning how to rest, as well as how to walk, listen, smile, and sleep. Snapping off the armor was just the first step (and, in retrospect, the easiest).

His eyes are his own. His tongue, his _hands_ \-- they can grasp and wave, embrace and scoop, do a billion things other than kill and scrub. His thoughts, his feet. He can think whatever he wants, go anywhere. He often can't stop smiling at the sheer glorious possibility of it all. He catches himself grinning, then can't even remember when or why he started. His expressions are mobile and constant; his face hurts, sometimes, by the end of the day.

He is on his way to the archives after the midday meal. He had a light physio session this morning, followed by his appointment with Kalonia. Later, he has a swim scheduled for after moonrise, but the next several hours are his own. He has been studying botany since he woke, for no real reason -- everything's so interesting! How should he choose? -- other than when the archon-droid asked his subject of interest, the first thing that came to mind was "plants". (He doesn't regret the choice, as it turns out. D'Qar is a splendid place for gathering samples and studying distribution patterns.)

"Finn! Finn!" Heavy boots thump closer as Finn turns, startled enough by the loud greeting that he puts his hand on the wall to steady his balance.

" _Poe?_ "

He hasn't seen Poe Dameron since he woke up. Just half a standard day before Finn did wake, half of Poe's squadron flew out under his command on a long-haul recon mission that went hot, turning into engagement and then stalemate. Finn has been following what little information makes it, first, back to base and, second, out of confidential briefings. Last he'd heard, Black Squadron was holding the line, but the mining array they'd come to inspect was taking heavy damage.

"You're up!"

"You're back?"

Poe nods rapidly, grinning. "I'm back and you're up! It's a great day!"

He is more handsome than Finn remembers -- and Finn has a _very good_ memory. What's more, he remembered Poe being quite handsome, remarkably so, even _striking_. Whether he was sweaty and bowed, his face streaked with blood and tears on the _Finalizer_ , or red-cheeked and soft-curled while leading the briefing before the _Starkiller_ mission, Poe was extraordinary.

Finn has turned over those memories quite often. Those, and others. The mint-tang of Poe's cologne when they leaned together in the briefing. The warm rough strength of his palm when he grasped Finn's hand fleetingly just before introducing him to the General. The rough music of his voice, shouting joyously, when they were in the TIE.

Of course Finn has thought about Poe. If he's learned anything about himself over the last fortnight, it is that he isn't made of stone.

No, he's a living, lively, feeling bundle of complicated nerves in a beautiful, if frequently terrifying, world.

He always was. The armor only did so much to dampen and isolate.

"Man..." Poe says now, still grinning, slowly shaking his head.

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah, yeah! I'm great! You're... _Finn_ , man. I'm so glad to see you, you know? Up and about, definitely, but --" He glances away and worries at his lower lip. "Even when you were laid out asleep, though, it was so good to see you. Better like this, though, don't get me wrong."

"Oh," Finn says; he didn't know Poe had seen him like that. Visited him, more than once, it sounds like. "Really?"

Poe frowns for half a moment, his brows curling up together, before his grin blazes back across his face. " _Really_. Can I --" A beep, a long harsh one, sounds from the comm on his belt. "Shit, I have to go, but --"

The look he gives Finn is indescribable, vaguely pained and anxious and regretful, all at the same time, frowning eyes and mouth twisting up.

"What were you going to ask?" Finn needs to know. He needs to stand out, call attention to himself. Surprise.

Poe smiles slightly, shoulders lifting as if he's laughing. "Yeah, I was wondering -- can I hug you?" He goes serious then, peering at Finn. "It's stupid, and I don't want to hurt the uh, the --" He jabs a finger over his shoulder at his own back and grimaces. "But, man. It's so good to see you!"

"Yeah," Finn says. His balance wobbles again for an entirely different reason. "That would be great."

As sensitive as he is, Finn hasn't gotten to touch many sentients. Aside from Kalonia, that is. More than anything, droids poke and prod at him; sometimes he gets caught in the crush of the commissary crowd, but that's accidental.

Poe's eyes -- how could Finn have forgotten this? -- they're dark and intent, intense even, and _knowing_. "Yeah? Good."

This hug is harder, longer, than their first, back on the tarmac after Takodana. That was instantaneous, a surge of desperate relief and surprise, a physical holler of joy.

This hug is a sentence and statement. They rock a little, side to side, their faces tucked into each other's neck. Poe smells like the soap everyone uses, no mint this time, but _warmer_ , and his hair tickles Finn's forehead. His beard stubble is a whisper, his chest flush against Finn's and solid. The hug becomes a promise.

The comm alarm sounds again on Poe's belt.

"I really do have to go," Poe says, slowly detaching -- face first, then shoulders and chest, finally hands sliding down Finn's arms. He squeezes Finn's wrists. "I'm in briefings all day, are you --?"

"I'm swimming at 21:45," Finn tells him. "Maybe --" It would be silly (and also inaccurate) to say 'we could catch up then', so he doesn't. He's smiling again, however. Still.

"I will see you there!" Poe thumps Finn's upper arm a couple times before moving away, a whole other kind of promise. "So much to tell you, man, I cannot wait."

"Same here," Finn replies. His chest is hollow for a moment, full of nothing but air and light, as he watches Poe hurry away. Finally, he gets moving, too, hanging a left when the passage forks. The archives are down the sloping corridor to the right, but Finn pushes out a side exit into the steamy afternoon and heads for the woods.

He can still feel the weight and warmth of Poe in his arms, still smell and nearly taste his presence. Hear his rough breathing, the little whistle at the end when he tightened the hug. Finn's hands itch and the swath of his cheek where Poe's stubble rested burns a little. 

Finn knows he's being ridiculous. This reaction is heightened because _all_ of his reactions are these days. All the same, his impressions of Poe have _always_ been heightened, well before anything else was. Poe looked at him, really saw him, his face and smile, before anyone else; Poe suggested his name. Finn's been reacting to him since before he knew anything about the man.

Finn climbs the steep path into the forest, stretching his legs as far as they'll go, urging himself to keep up the pace, even go slightly faster. His back aches a little, but pleasantly, enough to remind him where he's been and how far he's come. He pushes his palm against his knee, climbing, reaching for vines to haul himself up the rest of the way.

When he comes to the tiny clearing on the narrow ridge, he pauses, one hand on a sapling, fingers absently stroking the moss. The forest canopy is so dense that it's dim in here, almost like swimming in the lake, the shadows green and shifting, occasionally shot through with narrow beams of gold. There's a spring a little further back up the rise, so the ground is especially spongy beneath his feet.

Finn breathes hard and sweat has sprung out across his face. He leans against the tree to mop his face, then pulls his jersey off over his head. The air on his skin is close and soft, damp. He sinks down onto the broad outcropping of rock he likes to sit on. 

He calls it is his thinking seat.

Legs spread, toes of his boots burrowing into the duff, Finn wipes his face again before slinging his jersey around his neck. He can hear birdcalls overhead, the sound of the spring that's more rhythm than anything you could point to, the creak of the breeze through the canopy.

He swipes the back of his hand across his mouth. Maybe he's just sweaty, but his lips are hot, somehow. He'd like to brush them over Poe Dameron's stubble, let it rasp across their softness, maybe catch and hold him in place.

At that, the heat and light in his chest strengthens, _focuses_ , until it's a channel driving down through him, until he has to shift on his rock as he tries to get more comfortable. Until his dick is unmistakably warming and thickening, and, still, he's smiling.

He needs to learn how to rest and how to be, but he has also been learning how to exult and enjoy. What he likes and how to get it, give it to himself, luxuriate in it. Most of these explorations have been at night, in his bunk, with the corner of his pillow in his mouth lest he make too much noise. (Apparently, he likes to make noise, a lot of it.) He's tried stroking just fingers up and down his shaft until his hips take over; he's tried squeezing his dick in his fist and _pulling_ the pleasure out, almost milking himself. He's cupped his testicles, rolled them, and he's pushed them aside, moved fingertips up and down his crack to tease at his hole.

He wants the weight of Poe against him again. Poe's face against his own, their mouths moving together. He wants his tongue inside, he wants to taste Poe and lap at him, suck him and bite. He wants Poe's arms curved around him, clutching tight, even as they move more roughly together, grab each other's asses and heads and hips, grind and _push_.

Finn tears open the fastener on his trousers, lifting up a little so he can pull them down his thighs. When he sits back down, the rock is warm and uneven against his ass; he wiggles as he draws out his cock, thrusting a bit to scoot forward to the edge of the rock. His dick is swelling the rest of the way, precome running already from the head. He flicks at it with his thumb, light and quick. Suddenly he's seeing Poe's tongue there, teasing him, then wrapping around the head.

Finn groans; a bird explodes out of the undergrowth and takes to the air, complaining. Blue saberflies dance around his head, undisturbed by the noise he's making.

He wants to slow down. He wants to enjoy this. He's thrusting into his fist now, trying to make the motion long and fluid, twisting his hand at the top of each push. His spine is throbbing, glowing. The muscles in his thighs stand out, straining, as he points his toes and digs them down deep into the dirt.

He's not going to last. He _wants_ to, he needs to, but he's not going to. 

He opens his mouth, swirls his tongue over his palate as he imagines tasting Poe's dick; opens wider and swallows, to take it deeper, work it with his throat, make Poe's skull flip open and spill like Finn's own feels like it's doing.

His free hand clutches at one pec, palm mashing his nipple, then rises to his throat. His own touch drags sensation in its wake, spangled-bright and hot. He jabs his thumb against the tender hollow at the base of his throat, just skin taut over windpipe, until he's gasping and his hips are pushing on their own. Thumb and two fingers in his mouth now, curving against his tongue, his dick jumping and heating in his fist. He falls down, one knee in the dirt, the other still folded up, and fucks his own hand, gasping, until his orgasm flies and spurts and spills, over his palm, the dirt, a few splatters on his belly.

He sees white and green; his body pulses in a thundering roar and he sinks back, arm over his eyes, to catch his breath. Each pore is open wide and _singing_ , running with freshets of sweat. His body is his own, and alight with pleasure, a complicated net of feelings and needs and hopes. It is rejoicing.

He lies back on his thinking seat. He isn't thinking, not at the moment. He watches the tracery of branches and vines, nests and epiphytes and foliage. At first, it's all dark against the bright sky, but the longer he stares upward, the more detail emerges, the texture of leaves and heft of vines, veins and water droplets. Shaggy bark, outstretched clouds.

His chest rises and falls, gradually slowing. He can taste green on his tongue, and sweat, and desire. He licks clean his hand, and then closes his eyes until the sweat cools him down and the breeze starts to chill.

Around him, life is pulsing. There are worms and pebbles, slow-creeping mosses and rapid shoots, rain and tears and springwater. A magenta lizard and the soft fall of Poe's curls behind his ear.

There is also, Finn cannot help but think, war and devastation. Starvation and strafing, a deliberate rottenness that only grows, tumor-like and implacable.

But there's more light on him, in him, _around_ him, than Finn ever knew was possible. He doesn't know the balance, how they interact, anything like that. He does know where he is and where he wants to be, what he wants to see and do, and that is more than enough.

He's going to pull on his jersey and hike back down to base, maybe catch To-one for some dejarik, and then he's going to swim.


End file.
